


Mozzarella Kink fills

by Mozzarella



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Gen, Genderswap, Hair Braiding, Kink Meme, M/M, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Pseudo-Incest, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 16:08:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mozzarella/pseuds/Mozzarella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of as-of-yet semi-SFW fills from the Hobbit kink on LJ. </p><p>1) Dwalin/Thorin - Shieldbrothers, casual platonic nakedness<br/>2)Bofur/Thorin - Thorin shutting Bofur up in a sexy way<br/>3) fem!Fili/Kili - they left a child behind in Ered Luin<br/>4) Onesided Fili/Bard - Bard braids Fili's hair and inadvertently courts him<br/>5) Thranduil/Tauriel - Thranduil picks up the pieces as Tauriel grieving Kili causes her to fade (canon Tauriel/Kili and canon onesided Legolas/Tauriel)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cuddling Between Naked Bros (platonic Dwalin/Thorin)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwalin/Thorin - Shieldbrothers, casual platonic nakedness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=12227554#t12227554
> 
> The original prompt asked for it to slip into sex
> 
> But I kind of missed that so have some casual platonic nakedness and cuddles instead

The night was cold, and they were only as warm as they could be in each other's presence, and wasn't that enough of a reason?  
  
They had not done this for years, not since Thorin had taken on the responsibility as king-in-exile, and some interesting experimentation had gone on that neither would ever speak of again, but that was really all it was.  
  
If there was anyone Thorin would trust his naked back to, it was Dwalin.  
  
And really, the solid presence behind him, and the warmth that emanated from his barrel chest and (Dwalin would punch him in the arm for saying so) the slight bulge of his stomach (as much as he joked about Balin's gain in weight, he wasn't one to talk when he was starting to grow a bit sideways himself), they were comforts in the evening cold.  
  
They'd been prepared for the chill, traveling over the mountain to find some of their kin who would be willing, or in the very least, interested, to assist them in their quest. What they _hadn't_ been prepared for was the steep and slippery slope beside the thin and winding road, nor the half-frozen lake beneath, just fragile enough to break from the weight of two grown dwarves.  
  
So here they were, by a fire that was to go out sometime in the late evening, drying their clothes on a jutting root and buried under a salvaged blanket, curling into each other like dwarven children under the covers.  
  
It was not something spoken of often, and though there was honor in shieldbrothers in times of war, most of their kin did not live in wartime, and many readily forgot honor in place of propriety and sensitivity and privacy and all those silly things.  
  
Thorin himself had forgotten the feeling of skin on skin without any malice or arousal to accompany it. He'd forgotten the firmness of Dwalin's flesh when it pressed to his back, the strength in the one arm wrapped around his waist, and all the warmth that came with it.  
  
It was good to remember, good to feel. It reminded him in a more visceral, more concrete manner, why he trusted Dwalin so.  
  
So Thorin Oakenshield, king-in-exile, slept soundly in the wilderness, one hand clasping his friend's, sharing warmth between two warriors who put stock in the little comforts they came by.


	2. Insufferable Silence (Thorin/Bofur)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bofur won't stop talking/singing/interacting with others/etc.
> 
> Thorin finally cracks, drags him off and shuts him up. In a sexy way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=12202978#t12202978

Thorin thought he was being quite patient (patience, Balin reminded him, that measured much shorter than the average person), holding his tongue when Bofur refused to hold his.   
  
He could not, of course, prevent Bofur for being friendly. He was friendly with nearly everyone--that was one of the things that had enamoured Thorin the first time he'd ever laid eyes on the sweet-faced, warm-hearted miner.   
  
And Bofur had not once shown any sign of straying. His attentions never lingered on others for too long, and he always stood or sat at Thorin's side like he belonged there (which Thorin made clear that he did) in the end, slipping Thorin's hand into his in place of the intimacies they'd put on hold when they began this quest.   
  
But still... in the Company, he was merry, nearly always speaking or singing to lighten the mood, making side comments that weren't always appropriate to the situation. Once or twice, Gandalf himself, the wizard with a patience that, rivaled many dwarves (though not many wizards, Thorin guessed), had to ask Bofur to close his mouth and be quiet, lest he attract more bad luck with his wayward words.   
  
Above all that, Thorin was repressed.   
  
He had not made love with his one in months, and so private were they that half the Company did not even know they were together.  
  
He would remedy that when they took back Erebor, but meanwhile, he could wait no longer, his actions prompted by Bofur's warm attentions lingering far too long on their new burglar.  
  
"Bofur, take first watch!" he barked, ordering the others to get some rest.   
  
About an hour after that, Bofur found himself pinned to a cave wall, mouth ravaged by a desperate dwarf king, who bit and licked like a man deprived (which, Bofur's mind supplied, he was).   
  
He opened his mouth to comment on Thorin's state, but was muffled and silenced by Thorin's hand, with a reverent whisper of "You're insufferable," before it was once again replaced by Thorin's mouth.   
  
"We can't--" Bofur began, responding to his lover in kind. "We can't here, with them--"  
  
There was a flame in Thorin's eyes, one that inspired only a little more dread in Bofur than the thought of dragon fire itself.   
  
"Then you'll have to do your best," Thorin whispered, trailing his tongue and scraping his teeth against Bofur's neck, "to stay quiet."  
  
For the first time in a long time, Bofur was struck speechless, and all that came out of his mouth over the next hour were whimpers and whispered pleas, and the odd sound of unadulterated pleasure, quiet as he could possibly make them.


	3. Long forgotten gold (Gen, mentions of fem!Fili/Kili)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're not brothers. . Fíli is actually Kíli's wife. The young couple has a dwarfling who has been left at home with Dís, waiting for his/her parents to return from their quest.
> 
>  
> 
> But they never will.......

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/5346.html?thread=12206306#t12206306

Her hair was a lovely golden shade when she was but a babe, and they said she took after her mother.  
  
When she grew a bit, began walking on her own two feet, the gold in her hair faded, giving way to a strong jet black.  
  
After her father then, they said, and watched as the proud young dwarfling learnt the sword and bow (little wood toys, but nonetheless nods to the prowess of her parents and her strong bloodline).  
  
They were not rich, but she was loved, with her wooden sword and wooden bow and soft-tipped arrows.  
  
They called her a little dragon, though her name was much more beautiful, much more fit for a princess.  
  
Dragon was a name she kept, forgetting the princess, when her grandmother stood outside one morning, speaking to a messenger who brought ill news from their cousin, Dain.  
  
They called her Dragon for her fierceness, for her name had died long ago, with her mother and her father, who she herself did not speak of.  
  
Many forgot she was a daughter rather than a son. Many forgot whose child she was, after her grandmother passed on. She herself forgot the wooden toys her mother and father had given her, replacing them with weapons of her own, weapons she used to fend off orcs and goblins and bandits and all sorts of enemies she'd met outside Ered Luin.  
  
For her mother and father left her one day, a young child with clumps of gold and black hair, wooden bow and sword at her sides, telling her to use them well. For her mother and father never returned, to tell her otherwise. For her grandmother passed, leaving her with nothing but a memory of parents who never came back to keep her.  
  
There was no one to remember the last princess of Durin's line, no one to remember her for she did not remember them in adulthood.  
  
All that was remembered was a name: Dragon, who took the memory of whatever family she'd had and burned it. Dragon, who fled her home in the hills and made her way to the mountains.  
  
Dragon, who entered Erebor and coveted, with a hard heart, gold--not the gold that had gone to Dain, who had done little to deserve it.  
  
No, the gold this Dragon coveted was the gold that was preserved in the twin caskets of two dwarves--brothers, the stone proclaimed. It was the golden spark in the younger's eyes, and the golden hair of the elder, which she coveted.  
  
But even as she took what she could, she found that there were no eyes to sparkle in the bones of the dark-haired dwarf, and the gold of the light-haired dwarf had turned dull and gray.  
  
And stealing away into the night, chased when the caskets of the princes of Erebor were discovered, broken open, defiled, the Dragon met the same fate as her hard-skinned predecessor--shot through the heart by a swift arrow, the memory of gold and the love of her parents dying with her in the end, no gold left in her dark hair ( _like her father's!_ ) to behold.


	4. Fine Braids of Courting (Fili/Bard onesided, fluff, meaningful hair braiding)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK this is really two prompts, but they could both go in the same story.
> 
> 1\. Fili usually takes great pride over his hair, but after being in the river it's a complete mess and he can't fix it. It's obviously bothering him and the rest of the company aren't helping (they are manfully ignoring it to preserve his dignity or teasing him) so Bard offers to untangle it for him. Fili warily accepts because he can't see.
> 
> Bard is used to doing his daughters hair, so after he untangles it he braids it. This carries great romantic significance in dwarf culture. Fili is charmed, the other dwarfs are embarrassed, amused, or angered, Bard is bloody confused!
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. Fili puts braids in Bard's hair. Bard humours him (he sometimes lets Tilda braid his hair and nothing could look worse than that), but the braids are a statement of intent, they say to other dwarfs "back off, this one's mine". Bard wonders why Fili is acting so smug and the others keep smirking at him.
> 
>  
> 
> honestly, ~hair braiding~, I am such a *girl* :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/10731.html?thread=21863147#t21863147

The Company understood well enough that Fili was too worried for his brother to think about his mangled braids, but once Kili's assurances flowed smooth and his wound was bound (and Kili had always been a strong lad, hardy as any dwarf though he didn't look as thick), he was able to focus on the problem at hand.   
  
The fighting and the rushing currents of the river had done a number on his hair. It was knotted and tangled beyond what he could fix (It was no wonder dwarves avoided any deep and raging water) and upon entering the Bargeman's home (Bard, Fili amended. He was doing them a favor at risk to his own wellbeing, and he was owed at least the courtesy of his name), their host took notice of the elder prince's struggle with his locks.   
  
"Shall I help you get the tangles out? I'd offer to cut them, but I suspect you would have done that already if you chose."  
  
Fili was horrified by the suggestion. "Only those who have faced great shame among dwarves cut their hair.   
  
"I apologize, master dwarf. I meant no offense, truly," said Bard, his expression repentant.   
  
"It's alright. You didn't know." Fili looked around, but the others were too busy with their own dealings to pay attention to him and his exchange with their smuggler-savior.   
  
"I suppose it's alright," Fili said, and Bard sat down behind him to sit at level with his head, methodically pulling hair free out of their tight knots.   
  
"My daughters have fallen into the lake, once or twice. My son, even more so, but his hair was never long enough to tangle. I've done this before, so don't worry about the state of your locks now. They're in good hands," Bard said conversationally, almost cheerily, and Fili hummed in contentment as Bard ran his fingers through his drying hair, smoothing out the kinks.   
  
It was so very relaxing, and utterly intimate--but Fili said nothing. The only ones who'd ever braided his hair were his family, Kili and their mother most often. Kili was no master with his hands, and their mother was tender and soft in an entirely different way.  
  
Bard's hands were tender, but they were rough from hard work, and the callouses scratched against Fili's neck when Bard moved his fingers--making him shiver.   
  
It seemed like such a long time to take care of tangles, but Fili didn't complain. He was enjoying the feeling too much to complain.   
  
It wasn't until he felt the hair lift off the nape of his neck that he realized why.  
  
"There. I hope that's serviceable, though I know not what your preferred style is," Bard said, standing over Fili thoughtfully, surveying his work. "I made it so that it keeps the hair out of your eyes, if it suits you to have it that way."  
  
"You... you braided my hair," Fili said, his fingertips tracing the braids that were not dissimilar to his original ones, though fewer in number. Two, in fact, in the front, and two others, which ran toward the back of his head and met in a center braid down to the base of his neck.   
  
Fili looked up at Bard with wide eyes and a half open mouth. Surely he didn't mean--  
  
"I'm sorry if it's terrible," Bard chuckled, and Fili couldn't help but be charmed by the humor, and the way his eyes crinkled at the edges when he laughed. "I braid my daughters' hair sometimes, and they say it helps to keep their hair out of the way when they go about their business."  
  
"It's..." Fili began. He looked down at his hands.   
  
"It's what?"  
  
"Fine," said Fili decidedly. He smiled at their host, his heart leaping right out of his chest at the smile's return.   
  
"Thank you," Fili said quietly, and Bard gave him a jovial nod before he left, leaving the golden haired prince to toy with the braids of intent that the Bargeman had inadvertently created, thinking deeply on the great rough hands that so softly stroked his scalp and neck.


	5. The Ones Left Behind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kili is dead, and soon, Tauriel will be too.
> 
> Legolas leaves after the battle, unable to bear watching her fade away over the next year or so. He knows that Thranduil will take care of her, and keep her safe until it is her time.
> 
> The King should be angry with her - he has every right to be - but the only thing that he feels when he sees her is an immense sadness and that old, fatherly urge to gather her close and hold her until she stops crying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fill for this prompt at the kink meme: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/13429.html?thread=25163893#t25163893 
> 
> Specified pairings are Legolas/Tauriel or Thranduil/Tauriel, or both. 
> 
> I chose Thranduil/Tauriel, with canon mention of onesided Legolas/Tauriel and Tauriel/Kili with canon character death. Slight references to pseudo-incest, at least in terms of Thranduil's paternal element in Tauriel's young life. Character death all canon.

It was easier, he thought, when he left her fate to banishment. She was strong, and no enemy could fell her, or so he'd always told himself, so time in the wild would not destroy her. He could free himself of her folly without the hook pulling at his heart, knowing she was strong enough to endure.

He was not wrong when he believed no enemy could fell her--unless one counted one's own heart as an enemy.

For it was Tauriel's heart that was now dragging her into the depths of despair, death at Thranduil's closed gates, seeking to take her from him. So near was death that his own son could not bear to see it, so sure it would steal her away that he himself told his father he could not return. Thranduil understood the pain of losing a loved one, so he sent him off on a mission, one that, perhaps, would help ease the pain of parting. 

But Thranduil did not have the luxury of running. Death had long lingered at his door, a steady knock in the rare times his perfect memory recalled his wife. 

Strong, proud Silvan that she was, the memory of her, which Thranduil held dear, and the mask of her death which Thranduil would give anything to forget, seemed to align with Tauriel's pale face as she slept fitfully with her head resting on his lap, each breath a shuddering cry.

Even in her youth, Tauriel reminded Thranduil of his beloved. He saw potential in her, but more than that, he saw a daughter that would have hearkened to her features in the way Legolas did his. He distanced himself when she grew older, when the way she fought, the way she moved, the way she spoke--in strong, defiant tones, though solemn with obedience and humility--made Thranduil feel as though he were young again, falling in love again. 

When Tauriel revealed her regard for the young dwarf prince, he had been angered--more so than he knew was within reason, but he dipped that strange anger into that of his anger of Thorin Oakenshield, who proved him right in his greed and in his recklessness, who withheld one of the few things he ought to have possessed that would have been a worthy tribute to his wife, long past. 

But with Thorin dead now, his line erased, there was nothing to fuel the fire of Thranduil's hatred anymore. There was a cold pain there, an attempt at hatred for the dwarf that had taken with him Tauriel's heart and shattered it, but Thranduil could not feel anger--only frustration, and terror, that he had not the tools to put the pieces back together again. 

He ran his hands through her beautiful, long hair, a rare color that he'd hidden from the world for as long as he was able, and kissed her forehead, then her jaw, as she whimpered in the half-waking state she was in, whispering in their tongue, whispering his name and crying out as if she was being stabbed over and over, as he had been but once, enough to take him from her in a way that, should they have had more time together, would have ripped  _fëa_ from _hröa.  
_

It was only by that chance that she lived, though now death hounded her with every restless nightmare. 

Nobody should ever have to see their loved one's death, Thranduil knew, especially not an elf, whose memory was clear as a reflection in still water. 

"Why?" 

Thranduil looked down and saw reddened, tired eyes staring up at him. 

"You banished me," Tauriel continued in a whisper. "I went against you, and you renounced me. So why do you waste your time on me, knowing that I will only follow the one I lost into death?" 

Thranduil stroked the side of her cheek gently, wiping away a wayward tear and brushing the hair from her face. 

"Do you think you are the only one to experience the death of a loved one?" he said "Mortal or not, we can never be assured of our own longevity, in a world as dark as this." 

"How did you bear it?" Tauriel demanded, taking a sharp breath between clenched teeth. "When it hurts, and it doesn't stop, how do you bear it?" 

"The pain never left me," Thranduil said. "But it dulled considerably, at the thought of my son, and watching him grow into the noble and strong  _ellon_ he has become. And it seemed to disappear when I met a young  _elleth_ who I found myself loving, for it was as though my wife's spirit had returned to me. Over time, I saw her to be different, but still, she had the same fire, the same goodness in her." His thumb ran gently over her lips, and she closed her eyes, her brow softening at the gesture. "I found love, that which was there and that which came anew, and the pain--though it has never gone away, truly--no longer controls me, nor the way of my heart." 

Tauriel opened her eyes again, and Thranduil bent down to look at her, and then color that flushed her cheeks in a way that it had not since the battle. 

"For all that I loved you, I could not help you, and I am sorry," he whispered in turn, his nose brushing hers as he looked into her tired eyes. 

For a long moment, they held their place, and Tauriel was silent, her mouth half-open, her eyes considering. Then she raised her head (the first time in too many painful days) to press their mouths together, the admirable restraint of hungry, wanting lips pulling them apart again. 

"Help me now," Tauriel said, her voice now a little above a whisper, rough but strong, defiant and familiar. "Help me feel... help me feel alive again," she said, the words holding more meaning than Thranduil could assess, and he lifted her from his lap to hold her in his arms, kiss her in a way that spoke volumes of his desperation. 

For who did they have left to love but each other?

 


End file.
